


Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight

by nightshifted



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/nightshifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany rolls into Quinn's life with startling blue eyes, an infectious laugh, and an unapologetic penchant for nudity. Surfer AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight

Quinn Fabray is starting to get a headache. A really big damn headache. She stares at the woman in her office doorway and tries to remember that they are best friends.

"Look, Fabray. Take a week off. You've got so many vacation days stacked up, boss barely knows what to do with you."

"Lopez…"

"No, listen," Santana continues, stepping into Quinn's office. "Your parents left you a freaking beach house down in the sunshine state. You have three weeks of paid vacation, and frankly, I'd have snatched them off your ass already if I could. What the hell are you still doing here? You just wrapped up that big Jacobson case, and you've got nothing backlogged for maybe the first time since you stepped into this office."

Quinn sighs. "I can't just leave."

"Yes, you can," Santana insists. "Listen, go soak up some Florida sun." She waves a hand at Quinn. "You're looking a little transparent lately."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's called being _white_ , Lopez. Try it sometime."

Santana smirks. "Whatever. Also? Pick up a hot little blonde on the beach and fuck her senseless. Trust me, you need the lay." When Quinn doesn't reply, Santana offers, generously, "Or a brunette, if that's what you're into. Redheads though…" She makes a face. "They can be kinda crazy. Perfect for you though, right?"

"Oh my god," Quinn groans. "Please stop talking."

Santana grins. "Already told Sylvester you're taking next week off. She can't wait to get rid of you."

"You did _what_?"

"Almost booked your flight, too," Santana adds with a cheeky grin, "but I blew my last paycheck on a down payment on my Ducati."

Quinn shakes her head. "I can't believe you actually ride that thing everywhere."

"Are you kidding?" Santana's eyes widen. "Do you know how much it drives the ladies nuts in the pants? And how hot do I look in leather?"

Quinn holds up a hand. "Okay, stop. You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"For trying to get my best friend to go on vacation," Santana remarks sarcastically. "I'm _terrible_."

The corners of Quinn's lips twitch. "Okay. Okay, _fine_. Not a week though. I have work." She purses her lips. "How about this? I'll fly down for three days. Happy?"

"Yeah," Santana laughs, rolling her eyes, "because I derive _so_ much pleasure from being stuck here while you're off lying on the beach sipping cocktails and getting hot surfer chicks into your bed."

Quinn bites back a smile. "Get out of my office, Lopez."

Santana laughs as she turns to leave. "I'm taking your Blackberry before you go," she calls out over her shoulder.

Quinn takes a deep breath as soon as Santana disappears. She isn't sure she even remembers how to vacation anymore.

\--

Quinn's flight down is at half-past three on a Saturday. Santana volunteers to drive her to the airport, but ten minutes into the ride, Quinn regrets the decision.

Santana's knuckles whiten against her steering wheel. "I'm so sick of you burying your head in work."

From the passenger's seat, Quinn throws Santana a dirty glare. "What the hell? I'm going, aren't I?"

"But you're not happy about it," Santana remarks, shaking her head. "Shit, Fabray, you need to loosen up. That stick up your ass is about to come out your mouth."

"Shut up," Quinn growls.

"No, seriously." Santana fires Quinn a pointed look. "Do you know what your own laugh sounds like? Because I don't remember."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I laugh."

"Yeah, sarcastically. You're like, dead inside or something."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "I'm _fine_."

Santana turns to Quinn as she pulls up to a red light. "Look, I don't know what happened to you these past couple of years, but trust me, you need this vacation. Law school ate your soul, and all these cases? You're taking them too personally."

Quinn bristles. "I can handle my own shit, Lopez."

Santana shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just saying. You deal with broken families day in and day out. It's getting to your head."

Quinn chooses not to dignify that with a response. Truth is, she takes her cases home with her. She lies awake with images of battered women late at night and lets homeless children haunt her nightmares. But she isn't about to admit that to _anyone_ , not even Santana. _Especially_ not Santana.

As though sensing the shift in Quinn, Santana sighs. "Will you just try to have some fun? Forget all your depressing cases for a few days. Clear your head."

Quinn nods tensely. "Sure."

Santana gives Quinn a skeptic look. "Yeah. You know, you're starting to remind me a little of your old man."

Quinn refuses to let that comment get to her, because she _knows_ the only fucking reason Santana says it is to get a reaction out of her. So she digs her nails into her seat belt and turns to look out the window. They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

Soon enough, Santana pulls up to the airport. The two women step out, and they hug. Quinn sighs, because the grudge is over and they're friends again and it's reassuring.

Santana smiles, a hint of affection creeping past her exterior. "Have a good time, Q."

\--

Quinn doesn't remember the last time she was here. Before law school, for sure. Probably back in high school, when her parents had dragged her and her sister here every summer. It's a nice place. Two-story beach house facing a private strip of white sand on the eastern end of Sanibel Island, off the coast of Fort Myers. It's secluded enough to appease Quinn, but close enough to a more commercial zone so she doesn't have to eat tree bark for the duration of her stay.

She fishes out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open. With a heave, she tugs her suitcase inside and kicks the door closed behind her. The house smells musty from disuse, and Quinn abandons her suitcase at the entrance, then sets out to pull open some windows and let in some fresh air.

The flight down from New York City had taken three hours, plus another hour cabbing here from the airport. Now that she's finally here, the sun has already set, and honestly, Quinn is more than a little exhausted. She pulls out her phone and taps a text to Santana. It takes her about ten years, because Santana really had taken her Blackberry before she'd left, and Quinn has no idea what this T9 business is, but it needs to go die in a fire.

 _Got here okay. This is a shit phone._

Almost immediately, the phone buzzes in her hand.

 _Imma take good care of your crackberry. Have a good time, Q. Remember to pick up some hot ass._

Quinn chuckles and slides her phone onto the kitchen table. She drops her purse down next to it and returns to the suitcase. She manages to dig out half a chicken salad sandwich she'd picked up at the airport. As she begins munching on it, she decides to make a quick check of the place.

The kitchen area is small but well-equipped. She makes a note to go pick up some groceries tomorrow morning and stock the fridge with some beer. Next to it is the dining room, with a modest round glass-topped table. Four chairs circle the table, and she remembers the many meals they'd had here, when she'd been younger and much more impressionable.

The living room is furnished with a cushioned wicker couch and armchair set. The best part of the entire building, as far as Quinn is concerned, is the open quality of the living room, which essentially amounts to a large glass window in lieu of any type of wall, extending up over the ceiling like a skylight. She remembers lying here at night, watching the ocean beside her and the stars above her, and thinking that the world was larger than she could ever imagine. She's learned over the years that it's not, but a little part of her will always hold that wonder.

She makes quick work of the rest of the place, from the two bedrooms where she and her sister always used to fight over who would get the one with the balcony, to the garage below that houses two ATVs and a dune buggy, to the pool, hot tub and hammock out front, and finally to the master bedroom upstairs. She'd called the custodian a few days back and gotten him to come in and change the sheets, and in that moment, the bed looks extremely inviting.

Quinn stuffs down the rest of her sandwich, digs out a bottle of water and downs that too, then pulls out some toiletries and a change of clothes. She'll call it a night early, she decides.

She has to let the water run for a while before hopping in the shower, but otherwise, she manages to clean up and get herself to bed. She stares up at the slanted ceiling for a while, just breathing in the humid Florida air. A vacation. She doesn't remember the last time she'd had one of those.

Maybe Santana had been right. She needs something like this. Something away from the chaos of the courthouse, away from cases about domestic violence and child abuse.

Quinn closes her eyes, and her exhausted body pulls her to slumber.

\--

"You're not hiding away in your beach house, thinking about legal shit, are you?"

Quinn rolls her eyes and pins her phone between her ear and her shoulder, simultaneously trying to lug her suitcase upstairs. "No, Lopez."

"Man," Santana laughs, "you suck at this. You do realize that the whole point of going away by yourself for a few days is to get shitfaced and hook up with as many hot chicks as you can get your hands on, right?"

"That's _you_ ," Quinn counters. "I'm a responsible _adult_."

Santana snorts. "Right." There's some shuffling and unintelligible muttering at the other end, then Santana groans. "Gotta go. Sylvester's riding my ass again. See what I'm putting up with, just so you can get some summer lovin'? Better not disappoint me, Fabray."

"Your selflessness knows no bounds," Quinn intones sarcastically, groaning as she finally manages to drag her suitcase into the master bedroom.

"Yeah, yeah," Santana chuckles. "Say what you want, but I know how to have a good time. You, on the other hand, apparently need some reminding."

"Hanging up now," Quinn tells her best friend before doing just that.

Quinn pockets her crappy phone and sighs. She just can't seem to _relax_. She'd managed to get some good rest the previous night, but now that she's up and about again, she feels restless. Tension coils tightly in her muscles and she takes a deep breath in an attempt to soothe her nerves.

A plan. She just needs to know what she's going to do for the rest of the day. She likes knowing she has a purpose.

First, she needs to find a place for brunch. She hates that word, but it's already pushing ten, and she hasn't had a single thing to eat all morning. Her stomach is about to digest itself.

Second, food. And coffee. She needs to stock up the kitchen so she doesn't have to make runs every morning. She'd been lucky to find a packet of instant coffee in her purse – yes, she carries caffeine around with her – but she knows that if she doesn't get her morning cup of joe, she morphs into Sue Sylvester's demon spawn. That can't be conducive to this relaxing thing.

Third, lounging on the beach sounds like a nice way to spend her first day. Not like she has anything better to do.

Quinn zips open her suitcase and rummages around until she comes away with her swimsuit and a pair of denim shorts. A far cry from the skirt suits she wears to work every day, but she's already stuffy in her tank top and short shorts. Humidity is not her friend.

She changes quickly, then stares at herself for a moment in the body-length mirror hanging in the master bedroom. She almost doesn't recognize herself. She tugs at her dark purple halter bikini top, mildly uncomfortable. Her stomach grumbles loudly, and she shakes off her hesitation. She needs to _chill out_.

Quinn grabs a beach bag she'd brought, empties her purse into it, and makes her way to the garage downstairs, fighting the dust to unlock and heave open the large tin garage door. Blinding sunlight streams in, and Quinn squints against the brightness. A yellow dune buggy sits at one end, while two smaller all-terrain vehicles – navy blue and deep crimson – occupy the other side.

After a quick check to make sure everything's working and it's filled with gas, she hops onto the blue ATV and pulls on the matching helmet and gloves. The key is already in its slot, so she reaches down and turns it, starting the engine. An unexpected rush of adrenaline hits her when the vehicle whirrs to action under her. Maybe Santana had been onto something with that goddamn motorbike of hers.

She drives out of the garage slowly, and it takes her a moment to get used to the feeling of controlling the thing again, but she settles into it.

As soon as she pulls onto the beach, she can see the bustle of activity further down the strip. Quinn tightens her grip on the handles and releases the handbrake.

\--

By the time Quinn manages to feed herself and stock the beach house with some emergency groceries, it's already getting into late afternoon. She rides her ATV back to the public section of the beach, and though the sun's already low in the sky, she figures she can get a few hours of beach time in before she calls it a night. Santana would be so thrilled, Quinn thinks with an eye-roll. She can almost hear the brunette sarcastically calling her a party animal.

It's not that Quinn doesn't want to enjoy her time here. It's just that it mostly feels like a chore. Like she's filling some terrible obligation. Maybe there's something wrong with her, but she'd rather just be back at work. Work is what she knows. Protecting people who need protection is what she knows. Relaxing on the beach? Not so much. She doesn't really know how to fix that.

Quinn parks her ATV, removes and secures her gear, then heads toward the water, beach bag over her shoulder. She picks an abandoned chair, drapes her towel over it, and lies down. She snaps on her aviators and plugs in her ear buds.

A light breeze blows across the beach, but the air is still warm, and Quinn settles for watching the waves. When she'd passed by in the morning, there'd been many families and young children dotted along the edge of the water, but now, it's a lot quieter.

Quinn falls into a pleasant lull, and eventually, the sky begins to darken. Streaks of orange and pink and purple stretch across the horizon, the colors reflecting off the water as waves continue to roll in.

From the corner of her eye, Quinn catches a trio of surfers heading toward the water, surfboards clutched under their arms. More specifically, Quinn's eyes latch onto a thin blonde around her age. Heat rises up Quinn's neck as she takes in the surfer's toned limbs and defined abs, a red bikini highlighting her curves and leaving just enough to the imagination.

One of the blonde's companions, a tan mohawked guy with broad shoulders, turns to the other two and says something, motioning wildly in the air. The third surfer, a tall Asian, reaches over and playfully shoves the mohawked guy. The blonde throws back her head and laughs, and Quinn feels a smile spread across her lips.

What the hell.

Quinn turns back to the sky and tries to pay no attention to the three surfers, but she cannot help but watch as the three paddle out and climb to their feet on their boards, expertly riding the waves like they're an extension of their bodies. The mohawked guy falls off his board a lot, but that's mostly because he spends most of his time trying to show off to the other two. Quinn's eyes mostly trail the blonde, who moves like she's following some kind of choreography. It's graceful and enchanting and completely _sexy_.

Quinn averts her eyes, but she quickly finds herself staring again. She tries to focus on the Asian with the really nice set of abs, but before long, she's back to the blonde. Finally, she resigns herself to her fate. Besides, it's not like it's a crime to watch, especially when the subject is so damn easy on the eyes. At least it'll be a good story to tell Santana.

Quinn watches the three surfers – or, the girl, whatever – until after the sun sets and the sky turns navy. The lights along the beach illuminate the water, allowing beachgoers a few more hours of makeshift daylight, but as the sky continues to darken, Quinn begins to worry about the surfers. She's already shivering a little in the t-shirt she's pulled on, and she can't imagine the water being warmer. But just as she's legitimately contemplating approaching the edge of the water, the blonde begins paddling back, with her two companions closely behind her.

Quinn forces herself to look away so she isn't caught staring, and she does such a good job of it that she doesn't notice someone approaching until the blonde with the red bikini is hovering over her chair, sans surfboard. Quinn nearly jumps out of her seat in surprise, but she manages to keep it together.

The blonde flashes a smile. "Hey."

Quinn tugs out her ear buds. "Hi."

"I'm Brittany," the blonde offers.

Quinn nods noncommittally and chooses not to reply, hoping this Brittany character will just leave her alone. But Brittany kneels down next to Quinn's seat, suddenly, and presses her elbows against the armrest.

"You were watching us," Brittany remarks with a grin.

"No, I wasn't," Quinn replies, feeling her ears burning. Her muscles grow tense. She's never been more thankful for the aviators sitting on her nose, hiding her eyes, because now that she's getting a good look at the girl up close, Quinn cannot help but notice that she is attractive. Really, really _hot_ , actually.

Brittany smiles again. "My friend Puck—" She flicks her chin briskly over her shoulder, and Quinn follows that line of vision to find the Asian holding two surfboards and the mohawked guy waving at them. "He wants to know which one of us you were watching." She leans closer, and Quinn flushes, feeling the heat rising in her chest. "We've got a twenty riding on your answer," Brittany explains.

Quinn swallows. "I wasn't watching any of you," she manages.

Brittany frowns. "Oh. I could've sworn…"

"Tell him I said you," Quinn offers before she can stop herself. "So you can win your bet, I mean. I wasn't staring. At any of you."

Brittany lights up and leans closer, her face hovering inches from Quinn's. Her breath is warm, and her eyes are so damn blue. Quinn tries to ask the surfer what she's doing, but before she gets a word out, Brittany's lips are pressed lightly against hers, and her question transforms into a soft moan. The kiss is quick, gentle, and chaste, even, but Quinn's heart races in her chest like she's getting the first breath of fresh air in years.

Brittany smiles brightly when she pulls away. "You sure you weren't staring at me?" she asks, looking down at her side.

Only then does Quinn notice that her hand had somehow made its way to Brittany's ribcage, her palms and fingers pressed against Brittany's skin. Quinn snaps away, mildly horrified.

Quinn sits up, trying to clear her head. "What'd you even _do_ that for?" she manages to ask.

"It was a thank you for the twenty," Brittany explains innocently. "You're cute. You here on vacation?"

Instinctively, Quinn bristles. "No offence, but that's really none of your business."

Brittany laughs. "I don't care. I just haven't seen you around." She studies Quinn for another moment, almost curiously. "I'm a surfing instructor here, but I'm off this week." Brittany bites her lip. "Where are you staying?"

"Like I said—"

"Okay, okay." Brittany shrugs and begins to push herself to her feet. "Thanks for winning me the bet."

Quinn doesn't know why her hand snaps to Brittany's wrist, but it does, and she finally answers, "Beach house at the end of Periwinkle."

Brittany gasps and drops back to her knees. "No way! That place is sweet. Me and Mike used to sneak in there in the winters when nobody was around and—" Brittany suddenly looks conflicted. "I shouldn't have told you that."

Quinn laughs, genuinely _laughs_ for the first time in too long, and Brittany beams, as though she knows how rare the occasion is.

But then, something changes, and Brittany's hand slides to Quinn's hip. She seems to wait a moment, almost for something to stop her, but Quinn finds herself paralyzed, heat bleeding through her denim shorts.

"You here with anyone?" Brittany asks with a grin.

Quinn shakes her head. She knows where this is going, but where she'd expected _you looking for some company?_ , she gets instead:

"Wanna have sex? It'll be fun. I'm pretty good at it."

That's Quinn's first indication that this girl isn't like the others.

\--

Quinn isn't sure what had compelled her to actually agree to Brittany's proposition – maybe because this Brittany girl is the hottest thing she's laid eyes on in a long time – but now that they've made it to her bedroom, she hesitates. Because she's not her best friend, and she doesn't _do_ these things.

Brittany snakes her arms around Quinn's midsection from behind, her chin falling to her shoulder, and Quinn tenses.

"You okay?" Brittany asks, loosening her grip.

"Yeah," Quinn nods, "it's just…" She swallows hard, and something about the way Brittany is watching her makes her admit, "It's just been a while."

Brittany giggles near her ear. "Not a problem," she murmurs, breath hot as she tilts her head and begins planting kisses all along Quinn's neck, against her bare shoulders.

Quinn's eyes flutter shut, and she tilts her head to grant Brittany access. Tension flows away from her chest, slithering down her body to settle low in her belly.

Brittany wastes no time walking them to the bed and nudging Quinn onto the mattress. Quinn settles in the middle and watches as Brittany moves to straddle her.

"You're sweet," Brittany declares, smoothing her palms under Quinn's shirt, down her sides.

"How do you figure?" Quinn asks, sounding a little breathless.

"You made me wear the helmet," Brittany explains, hinting obviousness.

"I wasn't being sweet," Quinn quickly counters. "That ATV's made for one person. I wasn't about to go to jail for you because you can't hang on tightly enough."

Brittany shrugs, smiling as she palms her way up Quinn's side. "I held on pretty tightly," she drawls, letting her fingers squeeze gently. Her hands move to cup Quinn's breasts through her bikini top, thumbs flicking out to run over hardened tips. "What's your name?"

Quinn arches at the sensation. "It doesn't matter," she exhales around a groan.

Deciding that things aren't happening quickly enough, Quinn lifts herself up and flips them around, pinning Brittany to the bed. Brittany smiles, almost in amusement, as Quinn's hand reaches down between their bodies, finding warm flesh and toned muscle.

Find a hot blonde and fuck her senseless. Isn't that what Santana had said? Quinn needs this. Needs to feel life pressed under her, around her, inside her. Needs the release. Needs to forget, just for a moment, all the stresses in her life. And this girl… this girl is hot and willing and hell if Quinn doesn't know an opportunity when she sees one.

Quinn slips her hand under the fabric of Brittany's bikini bottoms, seeking and finding slick heat. Quinn wastes no time; the other girl is wet and ready. Brittany moans when Quinn enters her, and the sound shakes something awake at Quinn's core. She thrusts with purpose, tight muscles surrounding her fingers, and when Brittany comes with a gasp, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, Quinn helps her ride it out, feeling boneless and out of breath.

Brittany is quiet as she flips Quinn over and unbuttons Quinn's jean shorts. Quinn watches Brittany slide them off, taking her bikini bottoms with them, and a wave of self-consciousness suddenly floods her.

"You're so tense," Brittany murmurs as she settles between Quinn's legs, gently spreading them apart. "Relax," she adds, the word ghosting across Quinn's inner thigh and making her squirm.

Brittany presses her mouth to Quinn's clit, eliciting a gasp from Quinn's throat, then lifts her head and brushes a kiss to Quinn's pelvis.

"Is this okay?" she asks gently.

Quinn nods. "Keep going," she croaks.

Brittany doesn't need to be told twice. She lowers herself and begins lapping at Quinn's entrance, and Quinn feels a rush of heat, her nerve endings all tuning in to the way Brittany is building her up, all lips and tongue and the lightest brush of teeth. Brittany's hands find Quinn's hips, and she holds on as she thrusts her tongue inside, tearing a cry from Quinn's throat. Brittany keeps her pace, in and out, in and out, and Quinn's whole body stiffens before she comes undone, hands fisting her sheets as pleasure rocks her.

Brittany slows her movements to a stop and pulls away, licking her lips. She pulls off both pieces of her bikini and climbs up the length of Quinn's body to settle down next to her. For a moment, Quinn almost thinks the other girl is gearing up for round two, but then Brittany nuzzles against her neck and yawns.

"Told you I was pretty good," Brittany murmurs.

Quinn doesn't really know the usual etiquette for these kinds of things, but Brittany has basically fallen asleep next to her, so she waits a few minutes, climbs out of bed, and changes into some sleepwear. Surfer chick may be comfortable with random nudity, but she doesn't need this to become a professional liability. She climbs back into bed and pulls the blankets over both their bodies.

The last thing Quinn remembers before falling asleep is Brittany's arm sliding over to rest across her abdomen.

For the first time in a long time, Quinn's dreams are devoid of broken homes and battered families.

\--

"There better be a hot girl in your bed, Fabray."

"Lopez," Quinn grumbles into the phone, squinting against the sun beaming through the window. "Just because you still have to work at eight in the morning, doesn't mean I want to hear your voice blaring into my ear at eight in the morning."

"It's ten," Santana deadpans. She chuckles knowingly. "That good, huh?"

Quinn groans and turns over in her bed. Unexpectedly, she bumps into a warm, solid, _naked_ body. She can't hold back her surprised gasp.

Santana's laughter is loud and coarse in her ear. "Man, Fabray, exactly how drunk were you last night?"

"I wasn't," Quinn hisses, careful not to wake Brittany up.

"No, seriously," Santana chuckles, "I expect pictures."

Quinn watches Brittany for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. It's too early for her mind to be able to process any of this, and while she hadn't known exactly what to expect, she knows it hadn't been this. "Shit," she curses under her breath.

"How hot is she?" Santana presses, her amusement evident. "Scale from one to ten, where one is the new intern – you know, the one with the teeth? – and ten is me."

Quinn snorts. "You are not a ten."

"Oh, come on," Santana complains. "I would've put you at a solid nine."

Quinn smirks, momentarily forgetting about her bedmate. "Are you saying you're hotter than me?"

"Well… yeah. Though even _I_ have to admit I'm a little surprised; wasted no time taking my advice, huh? Was it a good lay?"

Quinn opens her mouth to tell Santana to can it, but suddenly, Brittany stirs, her hand blindly reaching out. Quinn tenses, frozen in place. Slowly, Brittany blinks the sleep out of her eyes, and she shifts closer, until she's lying flush against the length of Quinn's body. Brittany presses a lazy kiss to Quinn's collar.

"Who are you talking to?" she murmurs, voice heavy with the last remnants of sleep.

Quinn can hear Santana's voice in her ear, but she can't make out any of the words. "Nobody," she answers.

Brittany opens an eye, then closes it again. "Can I talk to her?"

"No," Quinn replies firmly.

"Mm, okay," Brittany articulates, burying her face against Quinn's neck. A warm hand slides to Quinn's hip. "Why are you dressed?"

Quinn is surprised to find herself still reacting to the touch, to Brittany, this girl she doesn't know but cannot help but feel attracted to. Her hip instinctively pushes against Brittany's, legs nestling together. She forces her attention back to her phone.

"Are you hearing anything I'm saying, Fabray? Shit, she doesn't like, have her hand down your pants right now, does she? 'Cause I mean, I want details but this is way too close for comfort. I'm not into watching. Or listening. Whatever."

Brittany begins pressing kisses to Quinn's neck, and her hand has found its way under Quinn's tank top and is halfway up her back. Quinn shuts her eyes and doubles her focusing efforts.

"Lopez," she lets out, trying to keep her breath even. "I gotta go."

Santana laughs. "Yeah, I don't need to hear any of this. Glad you're finally getting some though. Was a little worried I'd have to help you out with that, and I'd really prefer not doing you if I can avoid it. No offense."

"None taken," Quinn manages before shutting off her phone and tossing it to the bedside table. She turns her attention back to Brittany, who is smiling at her.

"Morning," Brittany murmurs affectionately.

"Morning," Quinn echoes, a smile spreading across her lips. She brushes a few stray strands of hair away from Brittany's face. "You're still here," she remarks softly.

Brittany smiles. "Where else would I go? I mean, I could walk, but that'd take me a good hour just to get back to the part of the beach we were at last night, and another half-hour to get back home." Brittany pauses. "I'm kinda lucky you're not a psycho killer."

"Could say the same for you," Quinn returns good-naturedly. "You really sneaked in here when my family wasn't around?"

"Yeah," Brittany laughs, "but don't tell anyone. We didn't break anything. It was mostly for kicks."

Quinn tugs Brittany closer without even realizing she's doing it. "You want a ride home?" she asks. "Or, if you want to call one of your friends and have them pick you up…"

Brittany tilts her head and smiles. "Eager to get rid of me?"

"No, I just thought—" Quinn trails off, unsure. She suddenly wishes there was a handbook for dealing with these kinds of situations. "I'm not kicking you out or anything. I just thought you'd want to get home. You can stick around if you want."

Quinn closes her eyes and presses her face against Brittany's hair, breathing in a light scent of sea salt. She doesn't know why she'd even offered. She doesn't _really_ want Brittany to stay, because barely twelve hours ago, she'd worked this woman – a completely _stranger_ – up to an orgasm, one that had been mind-blowingly reciprocated. Yeah, awkward.

Except strangely, it's not. There's something about the way Brittany is pressed against her now, gently touching her like they've been doing this for ages. Like it's _okay_.

Brittany presses a kiss to Quinn's jaw. "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing planned. Maybe just hang out here."

Brittany slides a hand under Quinn's top and absentmindedly strokes the skin across her abdomen. "Do you have eggs?"

Quinn's head jerks up, and she feels the blood draining from her face. " _What?_ "

"And flour and stuff," Brittany clarifies with a smile. "I want to make you breakfast. Are you a vegan?"

"Oh." Quinn breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "No, I eat everything."

Brittany's giggle is muffled against Quinn's throat.

Quinn flushes and clears her throat. "And I stocked up yesterday but it's mostly just instant or frozen food. And coffee. I need coffee."

Brittany jumps up. "I'll make you some!"

Quinn watches Brittany climb out of bed and walk out of the room completely nude. As soon as Brittany disappears down the stairs, Quinn sighs and stares up at the ceiling. Part of her wants to drive this girl home and forget about the previous night. Another part of her – the part that is currently winning – is curious. Curious and _lonely_ , if she's honest with herself.

Quinn has never had a problem being alone. She's buried her head in school and work for so long that it's become second-nature, and she really doesn't mind having time to herself. That's what she'd thought this would be; a few days away from big city lights and busy streets. A few days of quiet self-reflection.

But this girl. This girl who is unapologetically affectionate, unflinchingly frank, and so _different_ from everyone else in Quinn's life. If nothing else, it'd felt nice to wake next up to a warm body. And while Quinn doesn't really do one-night stands, the sex had been pretty fantastic.

Pushing away the covers, Quinn gets up off the bed and makes her way downstairs, limbs heavy. Brittany is standing next to the coffee maker, reading the back of a cereal box. She's still buck naked, and Quinn's eyes quickly skim her curves.

"You want something to wear?" Quinn offers, trying not to stare.

Brittany looks up from her cereal box and smiles crookedly. "You don't like what you see?"

Heat rises up Quinn's neck. "Not that. I just—never mind."

"Where are you from?" Brittany asks, placing the cereal box down on the counter and reaching up to open the cabinet.

"Up north," Quinn hand-waves as she slides onto a stool.

Brittany reaches into the cabinets to pull out two coffee mugs. "Why are you being so evasive?" she asks. "We had sex. I think knowing where you live falls a little below that." She pauses expectantly, but when Quinn keeps quiet, Brittany continues, "You sound like a New Yorker."

"Born and raised," Quinn finally confirms, watching cautiously as Brittany pours two cups of coffee and pads over. She slides onto the stool next to Quinn's and holds one mug out to her. Never one to turn down caffeine, Quinn takes it appreciatively. "Thanks."

"You never told me your name." Brittany blows lightly at her coffee and takes a small sip, eyes wide and observant over the top of the cup.

Quinn shrugs and takes a drink herself, the liquid scalding against her tongue, down her throat.

"I told you mine," Brittany tries again.

"I never asked for yours," Quinn points out, her voice taking on an unkind edge.

Brittany purses her lips but drops it. "You want breakfast?"

Quinn looks around the kitchen. "Did you actually find breakfast food in this place?"

"Nah, but there's this place Mike and I go to sometimes. Can I ride on your ATV with you again? That was fun."

"There are two downstairs. You can take the other one." Quinn takes another sip of coffee. "Who's Mike?"

"Oh, he's my roommate." Brittany waves her hand over the top of her head. "He was the one with a full head of hair."

"The Asian," Quinn remarks with an acknowledging tilt of the head.

Brittany nods, then puts down her coffee and stands up. Immediately, she's in Quinn's personal space, nestling herself between Quinn's legs and snaking her arms around Quinn's neck. Brittany's bare breasts press tightly against Quinn's chest, and Quinn takes a quick breath.

"Get dressed," Quinn instructs, lowering her eyes and trying to focus on anything other than Brittany's skin. "Fucking get _dressed_ ," she repeats through gritted teeth when Brittany's hand slides to her neck.

Brittany finally stills. "Will you make up your mind?" she asks, rather impassively. "One minute you're all over me and the next you're acting like you've never seen someone naked before."

Quinn lets out a breath. It'd be so easy, so much more uncomplicated, to tell this girl to go home and then spend the rest of her time here either avoiding her or ignoring her. Instead, Quinn reaches out and pulls Brittany against her.

"Stay."

It's neither a request, nor an order. To her own ears, it sounds almost like an offer. But Brittany seems to be waiting for something.

"Go get dressed?" Quinn asks, keeping her voice gentle. "And we'll get some breakfast."

Brittany smiles faintly and presses a quick kiss to Quinn's lips, then hops up and heads back up to the master bedroom. Quinn quietly finishes her coffee and makes her way upstairs as well. She finds Brittany back in her bikini but looking around like she's a little confused as to what to do next.

"Not sure any of my clothes would fit you, so—"

Brittany stares at her. "Are you calling me fat?"

Quinn pulls her lips into a straight line. "Does your breakfast place let you in like that?"

"Yeah," Brittany laughs.

Quinn smiles. "Then let's go."

\--

"This is _hard_ ," Quinn mutters, waist-deep in water and clutching a surfboard tightly against her side as she watches the waves and waits.

A few feet away, Brittany laughs. "…that's what she said?"

Quinn rolls her eyes and turns her attention to an incoming wave. "That one's good, right?"

"Yeah," Brittany nods, moving to position herself. "Remember, inside of your ankle against the deck, head and chest up, slide your other foot along the length of the board, shoulders and arms open, and—" She tosses Quinn a smile. "—go!"

Quinn takes a breath and tries to focus on Brittany's instructions. She climbs onto the board and lies down, as she's been practicing for an hour now, and as the wave begins to carry her and her board toward the beach, she pushes up and climbs to her feet. She immediately feels unsteady, but she tries her best not to catch an edge and wipe out.

"Bend your knees!" Brittany is calling out. "Spread your arms, and look ahead at the beach! Weight on your front leg!"

Quinn attempts to make minor adjustments to her stance. The wind is strong against her body, and she has to force herself not to stare at the beach and not at Brittany, but she clamps down and manages to make it to the edge of the water without falling over. She raises her arms in mock triumph.

Brittany squeals and tackles her to the sand, the length of her toned body pressing against Quinn's. "You did it!"

Quinn smiles, muscles aching but proud of herself. "I had a pretty good teacher."

Brittany giggles, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. "I like you," she announces without fanfare.

Quinn's skin is sticky with wet sand, and her hair is probably a mess, but she reaches up and brushes her knuckles against Brittany's cheek. "Thanks."

Brittany beams. "Let's go again?"

Quinn waits one moment, letting the warmth of Brittany's skin bleed into her bones, before she pushes Brittany up. "Yeah, let's do it."

\--

Quinn catches herself laughing. A lot. Not that she doesn't _laugh_ , but it's still strange, mostly because it usually takes her a little while to warm up to people, but also because nothing Brittany says is really all that funny.

She laughs when Brittany tries to lick ice cream off her lips but can't quite reach. Laughs when Brittany wipes it away with her napkin only to have it replaced a moment later when she takes another bite. Even laughs when Brittany leans close and makes her kiss it off, which is the weirdest thing of all. Not that she's _not_ affectionate. Okay, she kind of isn't, which is her point exactly. Everyone she's ever been with in the past… sure, she kissed them, but she doesn't remember the last time she'd been kissed the way Brittany kisses her, all smiles and sunshine, like a kiss is just a kiss, a mark of affection, and not an obligation or a subtle invitation for more.

Quinn doesn't really understand it, this pull, but she feels like maybe she has another day to figure it out. If the fire dies out, great. If it doesn't, she'll have home to run to, work to bury herself in, and a best friend who will take her out and force her to get drunk and have a good time.

If the first thing she learns about Brittany is that Brittany can make her laugh, the second thing is this: Brittany really doesn't like being clothed, and she doesn't even try to hide it.

Quinn doesn't know where the day's gone, but the sun has set and she's lying on a large blanket spread across the sand near the beach house. Brittany is naked. Again. She'd stripped down as soon as she'd gotten comfortable, which had been immediately after she'd snuggled up to Quinn and declared her the best pillow ever.

"You sure like being naked," Quinn comments, trying for disinterested.

Brittany hums, "It's like being free." Her hand slides to Quinn's hip. "You wanna get naked too?"

Quinn gives Brittany's wandering hand a small push. "No."

"It feels nice," Brittany insists, "and it's warm now. You sure?"

Quinn swallows hard. "Yes."

Brittany settles against Quinn's bare shoulder. "We don't have to have sex or anything." She pauses, then generously adds, "Unless you want to."

Quinn chooses not to answer that one, but she does fold an arm over Brittany's waist and keep it there. In response, Brittany lifts her head and cranes her neck to press a kiss to the corner of Quinn's mouth. A heat Quinn doesn't even understand spreads across her face.

With her fingertip, Brittany traces a line down Quinn's side. "Enjoying your vacation so far?"

"Well," Quinn answers, trying not to squirm, "I've spent most of it with you."

Brittany smiles. "Doesn't really answer my question."

Quinn mirrors the smile faintly. "It's been good," she says. "Today was good."

Brittany beams. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Quinn replies, her hand sliding up Brittany's bare back, fingertips rolling over the hard bones in her spine. "I can see why you teach surfing. You're good at it."

"What do you do in New York?"

"Kick ass," Quinn answers without a second thought.

Brittany giggles. "No, really."

Quinn gives Brittany a light tug, and Brittany slides higher along Quinn's body, her leg quietly slipping between Quinn's as she straddles Quinn's thigh. Quinn's hand glides up Brittany's spine, to the back of her neck, and she pulls Brittany down to meet her lips. The kiss is light, soft. When Brittany pulls away, she dives down to lavish attention to Quinn's jaw line, her neck, her shoulders, and Quinn bucks her hips against Brittany's thigh, feeling familiar heat coiling in her abdomen.

Brittany's laughter is muffled against Quinn's skin. " _Now_ do you want to have sex?"

Quinn answers that by pressing her palms against the curve of Brittany's ass and holding her there as she cants her hips up to meet Brittany's a few times, a pleased sigh escaping her lips as she does. The sand beneath her sinks and rises as she moves, and she feels Brittany's lips soft and soothing across her collarbone.

"W-wait," Quinn croaks. "Not out here."

"Nobody can see," Brittany argues, rolling her hips in a consistent and practiced rhythm, like she's dancing. "Isn't this strip of beach private? I've been yelled at before when I got caught sneaking around."

"Yeah, but—"

"Turn around," Brittany murmurs. "Lie on your stomach."

Quinn hesitates a moment, but then Brittany's hands are touching her hips and trying to flip her around, so she goes with it and turns over. Her cheek presses against the blanket, and she lets her arms lie on either side of her head. Brittany's hands are at Quinn's spine, tugging at the strings holding her bikini top in place.

"Brittany…" Quinn's voice comes out somewhere between a whine and a sigh.

Brittany's fingers spread across Quinn's shoulder blades, rubbing circles. "I bet you work somewhere really stressful," she observes, and Quinn immediately tenses. "Like a bank. Are you a banker?"

"No," Quinn mutters as she shuts her eyes and tries to relax.

"A cop?"

"No."

"Yeah, you don't look like a cop," Brittany decides, gently pushing Quinn's hair aside to tug at the strings around the back of Quinn's neck. "A pilot? Some kind of exec? A surgeon?" She pauses thoughtfully. "I still don't know your name."

Quinn lets out a breath. "Told you it doesn't matter."

Brittany lowers herself and begins planting kisses across Quinn's bare back. Quinn sighs in pleasure but tenses again when Brittany's hand ekes between her chest and the blanket. Quinn pushes herself up slightly, and Brittany's fingers tighten around the fabric of Quinn's bikini top, quickly pulling it loose.

"Lie down and relax," Brittany laughs close to Quinn's ear.

Quinn lies back down, and Brittany's hand skims down her spine. Brittany's fingers hook around Quinn's bikini bottoms, and Quinn's hips rise momentarily to allow Brittany to tug them down her legs. Brittany palms Quinn's ass with one hand while the other gently kneads the back of Quinn's neck.

"Don't stick anything up my ass," Quinn groans. "I'm not into that."

Brittany laughs. "I would've asked first."

Using her knee, Brittany nudges Quinn's thighs apart and reaches down between them, grazing moisture. Quinn gasps when Brittany flicks a fingertip over her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Brittany's lips press against Quinn's shoulder blade as she enters her with two fingers. She quickly adds a third, and Quinn moans, hips pushing back against Brittany's hand.

Brittany begins grinding down against the back of Quinn's thigh and breathing heavily against her back, and Quinn's head spins with the feeling of Brittany's fingers moving inside her.

"I need," Quinn gasps.

Brittany thrusts faster, arching to rub herself harder against Quinn's thigh. The hand on the back of Quinn's neck presses down, and Quinn instinctively pushes back against it.

" _Brittany_."

Brittany groans. "What?"

"Let go of my, _ungh_ , my neck."

Without another word, Brittany's grip loosens, and her hand slides down and around to brush against the side of Quinn's breast. She manages to sneak a few fingers between the blanket and Quinn's body, the sand underneath easily giving way and making room. Brittany's touches are light, almost curious, and the sudden feeling of Brittany palming her breast rushes Quinn to the edge. The back of her thigh is hot and slick with Brittany's moisture, and she bites back a cry as she comes, her body shaking as pleasure envelopes her.

Brittany grinds harder against Quinn's leg as Quinn rides herself down. Brittany is gasping hard against her back, and as Quinn tries to catch her breath, she flips Brittany over, pressing her down against the blanket. Before Brittany can protest, Quinn's fingers are inside her, and Brittany lets out a cry. Quinn silences her by catching Brittany's lips with her own in a searing kiss, muffling the sound.

Brittany's body quakes as she soars over the edge, and Quinn swallows Brittany's moan, feeling her blood pumping in her veins, her heart pounding in her ribcage, strong and steady and _alive_. She doesn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive.

Quinn thrusts her fingers a few more times for good measure, and Brittany smiles into the kiss, tiny whimpers escaping her throat. A moment later, Brittany pulls away, her fingers sliding down Quinn's side to press lightly against Quinn's waist. Quinn removes her hand and rests it gently against Brittany's hip.

"That was awesome," Brittany exhales.

Quinn presses her forehead against Brittany's collar, gulping in heavy breaths of air until her lungs stop burning and her heart isn't thumping so hard in her chest. A cool breeze brushes against Quinn and she shivers. Brittany immediately wraps her arms protectively around Quinn's back. Quinn settles against Brittany's body, pulling warmth from her.

"Come on," Quinn whispers after a moment, "we gotta get inside."

Brittany whimpers, eyes closed. "Let's just sleep out here tonight, 'kay?" she mumbles, the words lazily garbled together.

Quinn lifts herself higher and grazes a kiss across Brittany's lips. Brittany's eyes flutter open, and she smiles.

"You're lucky you're cute," Brittany murmurs sleepily.

Quinn chuckles. "I take advantage of it when I can," she returns, pushing herself up.

By the time Quinn has picked up their strewn bikinis, Brittany is standing beside her. Brittany glows under the moonlight, smooth and soft and crazy beautiful. It strikes Quinn how much of a balance between innocence and maturity Brittany manages to carry.

Brittany takes Quinn's hand and tugs her into the house.

The two women fall asleep under warm covers, limbs loosely twisted together.

\--

"Really getting sick of your wake-up calls, Lopez."

Quinn leans back against the wall and looks over at Brittany, who is lying on the couch in her bikini and a pair of Quinn's shorts hugging her hips. She's smiling, and Quinn tosses a quick smile back before returning her attention to the phone nestled against her ear.

"I waited past noon this time," Santana says, her words lilted in amusement.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You're so considerate."

"Whatever, I totally am." Santana chuckles. "Don't tell me you're still in bed. I've been doing paperwork since fucking seven-thirty."

"No," Quinn replies, watching as Brittany rises from the couch and steps toward her. "We're packing."

Immediately, she can hear the frown in Santana's voice. " _We_? Who the hell is _we_? And I thought your flight back isn't until tomorrow."

"It isn't. We—" Quinn stops herself. Brittany has made her way over and is now tugging playfully at her hair. Quinn takes Brittany's hand and twines their fingers. Brittany leans forward and rests her temple against Quinn's shoulder. "Boating," Quinn continues once she's recovered from Brittany's sudden affection. "I'm going boating with some people I met here."

"Some people," Santana echoes flatly. "You bed another chick last night?"

Quinn flushes, feeling Brittany's forehead flush against her neck. "I—"

"Don't tell me," Santana interrupts. "Same one as the night before."

"Lopez…"

Santana laughs. "You're so predictable, Fabray. Take pictures, all right? I gotta see what this girl's got that has you spending your whole goddamn vacation with her."

"She's fun," Quinn shrugs, the weight of Brittany's head pressing down against her shoulder as she does.

Santana laughs again. "I'm sure. You kind of sound less bitchy today, so I mean, whatever. If this chick can reach into your ass and tug out that stick a little, I'm down."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Lunch break," Santana returns. "And _not_ that I miss you or anything, because I totally _don't_ , but this place kind of sucks without you. The new intern almost spilt coffee on me today. Dumb fuck."

Quinn laughs. "You miss me."

"You're such an asshole," Santana growls. "Go have fun with your little fuck buddy."

Quinn smirks. "Bye, Lopez."

Brittany plants a kiss to the base of Quinn's neck as soon as she hangs up. "Who's Lopez?"

"My best friend, Santana," Quinn replies without too much thought.

Brittany smiles up at her. "You do realize that I know your best friend's name before I know yours, right?"

A low chuckle escapes Quinn's throat. "I have a high tolerance for irony."

Brittany's smile widens. "Like, forever. For the rest of our lives. I am never ever going to know your name before I know your best friend's name. Unless I get amnesia or something." She suddenly looks mildly concerned.

"You're not going to remember either in a month anyway," Quinn dismisses. She looks down at Brittany's frown and clarifies, "I'm flying home tomorrow."

A small pout makes its way across Brittany's lips. "Already?"

Quinn pushes down a sudden rush of disappointment. "Yeah, it was meant to be a short vacation."

Brittany straightens up and smiles faintly. "I'm going to miss you."

Unexpected affection rushes through Quinn, and she pulls her lips into a straight line to hide it. "You ready to go?" she asks, louder and more dismissive than she'd meant to.

Brittany nods, eyes lowering as she starts to slip away. "Yeah," she says quietly, "let's go."

Quinn catches Brittany's forearm and pulls her back. "Hey." She touches Brittany's cheek, fingers lingering along her jaw. "Me too." She gives Brittany a pointed look. "Okay?"

Brittany smiles and kisses the tip of Quinn's nose. "I know."

Quinn lets Brittany grab her hand and lead her out of the beach house.

\--

"Meet Jackie Daniels."

Brittany's voice brims with pride as she motions toward an impressive Cobalt cruiser-style powerboat docked in front of them. From where they're standing, Quinn can see a series of cushioned couch-seats arranged in an arc near the back, and further in, a door leading down to what looks like a cabin. Without releasing Quinn's hand, Brittany climbs on and helps Quinn do the same, just as the mohawked guy Quinn remembers from two days ago climbs out of the cabin in nothing but a pair of board shorts. He salutes them, then gives Quinn a once-over.

"Heeey," he draws out, smirking slyly. "You're even hotter close up than you were lying on that beach."

Brittany's arm slides easily around the back of Quinn's waist as she pulls her close, and Quinn flushes.

"Leave her alone, Puck."

Puck laughs as he raises his hands defensively. "I'm no home-wrecker."

"You kind of are, though," another voice speaks up. The tall Asian, Brittany's roommate, has joined them on deck, also only clothed in a pair of board shorts.

"Fuck off, Chang," Puck tosses over his shoulder.

Chang, whose name first name Quinn remembers is Mike, laughs and turns to Quinn. "Hey. You two got everything? We're about to set off."

Brittany nods and pulls Quinn to one side of the boat, nudging her to take a seat. Brittany sits down beside her, and they both watch as Puck and Mike fight over who gets to steer the thing out of the harbor.

Quinn smiles. "Are they always like this?"

Brittany grins back. "Pretty much. I'd say they were totally gay for each other, except Puck spends way too much time trying to have sex with me, and Mike has a girlfriend and our apartment has thin walls." Quinn laughs, and Brittany scrunches up her nose. "TMI, huh?"

Quinn laughs again. "No, trust me, where I work, nothing is TMI."

Brittany's eyes brighten. "You're not going to tell me where you work, are you?"

The words are at the tip of Quinn's tongue when from the front of the boat, Puck booms, "Hey, Britt! What's your friend's name?"

Brittany brushes a hand absentmindedly over Quinn's thigh. "I… don't know," she laughs.

Next to Puck, Mike stops whatever he's doing to look at them. "You didn't ask?"

"I did, but—" Brittany shrugs her shoulders as she continues to knead the skin on Quinn's thigh. "She didn't want to tell me."

Mike furrows his eyebrows and regards Quinn strangely. After a moment, he shoulders Puck out of the way and takes hold of the steering wheel.

Puck, however, continues to study Quinn, his eyes momentarily narrowing in recognition. "Fabray, right?"

Alarmed, Quinn's eyes snap to Puck. "Yeah, how'd you—"

Puck waves a hand vaguely toward shore. "I clean your pool sometimes. I've met your old man. Serious guy. Uptight as hell. No offense."

"Lived with him for eighteen years," Quinn replies with a tight smile. "Trust me, I know."

Puck chuckles. "Yeah, looks like the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

Quinn's pretty sure he'd meant it as a joke, but immediately, Mike slugs him across the arm. Brittany smoothes a palm over Quinn's knee and lays her head on Quinn's shoulder.

"He doesn't mean that," Brittany whispers to her like it's a secret.

"It's fine," Quinn murmurs back, even though it _isn't_. She is _not_ her fucking father, and she's spent too long distancing herself from him to have it thrown back into her face like that.

Still, as irritating and lacking in social finesse as Brittany's mohawked friend is, Quinn can't entirely blame him for making the remark. After all, she hasn't even told Brittany her name. Discomfort coils tightly at the pit of her stomach as this revelation settles in, and she leans her head lightly against Brittany's, an apology clawing against her throat.

But Brittany beats her to it. "Sorry, babe. Puck doesn't think before he speaks most of the time."

"It's okay," Quinn reassures again, her own apology curling up inside her. "He's just looking out for you."

Brittany reaches up and cups Quinn's cheek. She doesn't say anything, just keeps her hand there, pressed lightly against Quinn's face, and Quinn sighs, relaxing into the touch. Her hair whips around her face as the boat picks up speed.

Puck approaches the two women with a pair of open beer bottles pinched between the fingers of his right hand. He holds them out to Quinn, and she takes one from him.

"Thanks."

Puck sits down across from them and takes a pull from his beer. "So Fabray," he starts. "How long've you been here?"

"Couple days," Quinn replies. "Since Saturday night."

Puck leans back, his elbows hooking over the railing behind him. "Mike says Britt hasn't been home since we left her Sunday night at the beach." He smirks. "You two been having fun?"

Brittany giggles, the side of her head vibrating lightly against Quinn's shoulder, and Quinn feels her own cheeks reddening.

Puck raises an eyebrow and takes another swig of beer. "Guess that answers it. You into threesomes?"

" _Puck_ ," Brittany reprimands, kicking out her foot but not quite reaching his shin.

Puck throws his head back and laughs heartily. "She's hot, all right? Can you blame me?"

Brittany tilts her head to press a kiss over Quinn's bare shoulder, and Quinn feels Brittany's lips curving into a smile against her skin. Brittany's hand slides down to Quinn's neck. Puck is watching them with a smirk, and Quinn doesn't even _want_ to know what's going on in that head of his.

Mike joins them then, having stopped the boat somewhere in the middle of the water.

"You guys want lunch?" he asks, just as Brittany's stomach growls loudly.

Mike laughs and obediently heads down into the cabin. Puck is still grinning suggestively at them, but Quinn doesn't really care, because Brittany's hands are tracing shapes along Quinn's arm, warming her to the bone.

Really, that mohawked douchebag can suck it.

\--

"I love sunsets," Brittany murmurs, her cheek pressed to Quinn's neck.

"Me too," Quinn replies, looking out across the orange-streaked sky.

All four of them had spread out to watch the sky at the first indication of the sun hovering close to the horizon. Well, Brittany and Quinn had curled up together on the swim platform, but the two guys had spread out. The sun has already halfway disappeared, but Brittany's face is lit up like it's the first time she's ever seen a Florida sunset. Quinn brushes a quick kiss to Brittany's forehead.

Soon, the sky shifts from bright orange to soft purple as the sun fully disappears from view. Mike and Puck slip on shirts to stay warm, and Puck disappears into the cabin momentarily. He returns with a deck of cards in his hand.

"You girls in for a few hands of poker?" Mike asks as Puck hands him the cards.

Quinn senses Brittany's grip tighten around her waist, and she shakes her head. "No, I think we're good."

"But bring us a blanket, Mike?" Brittany adds sweetly.

Mike rolls his eyes but tosses the pack of cards back to Puck before heading into the cabin himself. He comes back out with a gray blanket, which he drapes carefully over the two women.

"I love you," Brittany tells him with a soft smile.

Mike smiles back and brushes the side of his hand across her cheek. As soon as Mike leaves, Brittany shifts even closer to Quinn and seeks out her lips. The kiss heats up immediately, and Brittany's hand slides down to palm Quinn's thigh. Quinn throws her leg over Brittany's waist, and Brittany smiles, her nails lightly scratching a path up Quinn's leg.

Quinn shivers under the covers, biting back a moan when Brittany's fingertips press against her center. She reaches down and swats Brittany's hand away. With a breathy laugh, Brittany takes hold of Quinn's wrist and pulls her hand up, placing it palm-down against Brittany's ribcage. Quinn sneaks her hand under Brittany's bikini top, and Brittany groans low in her throat.

An enthusiastic whistle from behind them kills the moment. Puck is grinning lewdly at both of them when they break apart and turn to look at him.

Brittany laughs. "Time to head back, I think," she says breathlessly.

" _Fuck_ , that was hot," Puck growls.

Mike flicks the two cards in his hand in Puck's direction. "Leave them alone, Puck."

Puck stares at Mike. "Don't tell me you don't want in on that. 'Cause—"

"Oh, _gross_ ," Mike interrupts, face scrunching up in disgust. "Britt's like practically my sister." He stands up and slaps Puck across the shoulder. "Go get us back to shore."

"Asshole," Puck mutters as he gets up and heads for the front of the boat.

Mike reaches behind him and scratches the back of his head. "Sorry about that," he says, looking mostly at Quinn. "Um, you two should probably get back up here before the boat starts moving or you might fall off the swim platform."

Brittany presses a quick kiss to Quinn's lips, then lazily pulls herself up. Quinn gets up as well and follows Brittany back onto the main part of the boat. Mike leans down and fiddles with a switch, and all three watch as the swim platform slowly retreats back into the body of the boat, just as Puck begins to steer the thing toward shore.

Quinn takes a seat to avoid being rocked off her feet. The night air is cool, and a sudden gust of wind brushes past her skin, making her shiver. Brittany is immediately settling down beside her, wrapping the blanket over both their shoulders.

Mike gives them a small smile, then walks to the front to join Puck.

Quinn turns to Brittany. "It's my last night," she murmurs. What she means is, its _their_ last night, but she doesn't have the heart to verbalize that part.

"I know," Brittany replies quietly. "You should stay a few more days."

"I can't," is out of Quinn's mouth before she can even think about it.

"Yeah," Brittany breathes.

"Britt—"

"Don't," Brittany instructs, cutting her off. She sounds serious for maybe the first time. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Quinn takes a deep breath and nods. She watches the sky shift from purple to dark blue, thinking about a million things but mostly about Brittany and everything she doesn't want to be feeling. She slides her hand over Brittany's and keeps it there until Puck navigates the boat back to the harbor and all four of them climb out.

Brittany steps briefly away from Quinn and out of the blanket to hug Mike and Puck, then pulls it back over her shoulder. Goodbyes are exchanged, and Quinn doesn't understand why Brittany leaving with her is some implicit decision, but it is, and all she can do is tug the blanket tighter over her shoulder and be grateful as they walk away.

It stays over both of their shoulders until they reach the two parked ATVs that'd brought them here.

\--

They shower separately, mostly at Quinn's insistence. There are two bathrooms in the beach house, so it's not too time-consuming.

By the time Quinn's done her thing, Brittany is already sprawled out on the bed. Naked. Not that it's shocking anymore or anything.

As soon as Quinn lies down, Brittany climbs over her and straddles her hips. Neither says anything as Brittany removes Quinn's clothes and leans down to kiss a path down Quinn's neck, over her collarbones, between her breasts, over her abdomen. Quinn watches Brittany's movements as heat rushes through her.

Brittany kisses her way back up the length of Quinn's body, until her face is hovering inches above Quinn's. Quinn swallows hard before their lips meet in an open-mouthed kiss. Someone moans, the sound catching in the other's throat.

Brittany's fingers are inside her before she can react, and she gasps against Brittany's lips as pleasure sears through her. Brittany just laughs and slants her lips down to nip at Quinn's pulse point. Brittany's free hand is stroking the skin at Quinn's side, and a surge of emotion burns against her ribcage.

"Quinn," she gasps. "My name is Quinn."

Brittany's movements still, and she regards Quinn curiously, a little sadly. "That's a pretty name. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because," Quinn croaks. Her throat hurts, and she swallows hard as arousal pools between her legs. "Because you weren't supposed to be here when I woke up Monday morning."

A flicker of confusion flashes across Brittany's eyes, but it is replaced quickly by irritation. "This is our third night together. How many does it take?"

Quinn closes her eyes. Brittany's fingers are still inside her, unmoving, and Quinn feels a wave of unbearable sadness wash over her. "I don't know," she replies, instead of _I'm sorry_.

Soft lips press against hers, gently, and just once. Then, Brittany's fingers start moving again, slowly, torturously, and Quinn feels herself building up again. Quinn bucks her hips against Brittany's hand, trying desperately to get Brittany to pick up the pace, but Brittany maintains her slow thrusts as she buries her face against Quinn's neck and begins pressing light kisses to Quinn's collarbone.

"Please, Britt," Quinn groans. "Faster. I need—"

Brittany halts again, her head lifting. "You need what?"

" _You_ ," Quinn blurts out in a haze, her eyes opening to meet deep blue ones as desperation creeps into her chest. "I need to know this isn't the last time I'm going to feel like this."

Brittany dusts a kiss to Quinn's jaw. "You said that you can't stay for a few more days."

"I don't want just a few more days. _Ungh_ , Brittany, this was supposed to be one night."

"Quinn," Brittany says softly, the syllable flowing gracefully from her lips.

"Say that again," Quinn breathes. "My name. S-say it again."

Brittany smiles faintly. "You didn't trust me."

"You were a stranger," Quinn replies. Immediately, she winces.

Brittany bristles, her features turning uncharacteristically unkind. "It was just your name. How special do you think you are?"

Quinn closes her eyes again, feeling Brittany's warm breath ghosting across her chin. Brittany leans down again, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of Quinn's neck, over her shoulders, and she thumbs Quinn's clit, eliciting a gasp as her back arches off the bed.

"You think I planned on this happening?" Brittany asks, the words muffled against the top of Quinn's breast as she presses haphazard kisses to the skin there. "I thought I'd be gone Monday morning, too."

Brittany twists her fingers inside Quinn, then pushes deeper. Quinn's breath hitches when Brittany latches onto a nipple and twirls her tongue around the tip. Her eyelids flutter open, needing to see blond hair and blue eyes and sun-kissed skin.

"Brittany…"

Brittany lifts her head. "I didn't stick around because I wanted to know your name," she tries again, her fingers pulling out only to thrust in again.

"I know," Quinn moans, feeling breathless, feeling a million things she isn't supposed to feel. "I know, I know, I know."

Brittany thrusts faster then, and Quinn bites down on a cry. It leaves her lips in a strangled mess, but Brittany just kisses her softly and rolls the pad of her thumb over Quinn's clit, as though she's saying it's okay. That everything – that _this_ – is okay.

Quinn shuts her eyes and lets the feeling of Brittany moving inside her throw her over the edge. She cries out Brittany's name, her body humming with pleasure. Brittany leaves a tiny trail of kisses along Quinn's jaw as she lazily works her down with soft fingers and incoherent murmurs.

When Quinn's body finally stops quaking, she nudges Brittany off her and swaps positions, wanting so much to make Brittany feel everything she does. Quinn lowers herself down the length of Brittany's body, lavishing attention to every patch of skin she can reach, because it's the last time and she needs to make it count.

It hits her then. It's the _last_. _Time_. She doesn't remember the last time she'd spent two days and three nights having this much _fun_ , and she isn't even talking about the sex. She'd been so wrapped up in her life, in her work, in her clients and cases, that she hadn't let herself take a breath and loosen up in years and years.

But the past few days, Brittany had barreled into her life and shown her how to live again. Shown her that not everything is about men who beat their wives, parents who fight over their children, or worse, parents who don't. Living is about this. Tender moments of joy that are shared between people who understand. People who care and love and can draw out smiles with soft kisses, laughter with sweet words.

Brittany, in all her unconventional optimism, has known this all along, and Quinn has to push aside a fountain of emptiness that leaks into her chest. Brittany seems to sense this – how, Quinn has no idea, but Brittany reaches down and pulls her up.

"You don't have to—"

Quinn kisses her. Once, very quickly. It's somewhere between soft and rough. It's perfect.

"We can just sleep if you want," Brittany tries again. "I can get myself off pretty easily."

Quinn drops another kiss to Brittany's lips and begins traveling down again, this time with more certainty. She makes it all the way back to Brittany's abdomen, and she nudges Brittany's legs apart to settle between them. She presses her tongue flat against Brittany's clit, and Brittany pushes back, lifting her hips as a groan escapes her lips. Taking advantage of the situation, Quinn lifts Brittany's legs and hooks them over her shoulder, her hands moving to Brittany's hips as she holds them up.

Quinn leans down and brushes a kiss to Brittany's center, then darts out her tongue, tasting Brittany for the first time. It makes her head dizzy with need. Brittany arches her back, and Quinn feels the weight against her shoulders, but she doesn't slow her movements. She thrusts, once, twice, again and again, until Brittany is whimpering her name – her _name_ – in ecstasy.

Quinn doesn't take her eyes off Brittany, and she watches as the muscles across Brittany's abdomen clench with every breath she takes, watches for the nuances in her body that Quinn has picked up over the past few days.

Brittany's thighs tighten against the side of Quinn's head, and Quinn moans as Brittany pushes her hips up, meeting Quinn's eager lips. Brittany comes surprisingly quietly, but her body clenches like Quinn's never seen before. Quinn laps away, working her tongue all around Brittany in an attempt to draw Brittany's pleasure out for as long as she can.

When Brittany's body finally slackens, Quinn nudges Brittany's thighs off her shoulders. The muscles in her back ache from the exertion, but Quinn doesn't even care, because Brittany is lying there looking like she's just had the best orgasm of her life.

Quinn licks her lips and tastes the last traces of Brittany there. It sends a jolt of pleasure to the pit of her stomach. Brittany is smiling at her when she climbs back up the length of Brittany's body and lies down with her head against Brittany's collar, spent.

Brittany pulls the covers over their sweat-slicked bodies, and Quinn closes her eyes instead of getting up to get dressed. Brittany's hand sneaks around to Quinn's bare back, and Quinn falls asleep exactly like that.

\--

Quinn is lying on the floor of the living room, looking up at the still-dark sky through the glass panels overhead when Brittany stumbles down the stairs.

"Quinn?"

"Over here," Quinn calls out.

A moment later, Brittany joins her, the covers from the bed pooling around her waist and dragging behind her. She lies down next to Quinn and tosses half of the blanket over Quinn's naked body.

"Why are you awake?" Brittany asks around a yawn.

Quinn moves closer until their bodies are touching. "I can sleep on the plane tomorrow. Wanted to enjoy my last night here."

"Mm," Brittany hums. "I woke up and you weren't there."

Quinn brushes her hand against Brittany's hip. "Sorry, you just looked so peaceful. Didn't want to disturb you."

Brittany seeks out Quinn's hand under the covers and holds on. There are so many words clawing their way out of Quinn's throat, so much left unsaid, but the ones that escape are not the ones she expects to hear.

"I'm a lawyer."

Immediately, Quinn tenses, but Brittany squeezes her hand and brushes her cheek against Quinn's shoulder.

"What kind of lawyer?"

Quinn takes a breath. "I practice family law," she replies. "My dad wanted me to be a corporate lawyer because that's where the money is, but…" Quinn looks briefly at Brittany. "That's not what I wanted."

Brittany runs her fingertips soothingly up and down Quinn's arm. "Was he upset?"

"Yeah, a little." Quinn shrugs her shoulders. "He didn't understand."

"What you do is important," Brittany comments. "What you do is _human_."

Quinn sighs and leans into Brittany, drawing strength from this woman who knows freedom, knows spontaneity and honesty and a happiness that Quinn hasn't known for years. Maybe ever. Words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

"I used to come here when we vacationed in the summers when I was a teenager. This room, I mean. I loved looking out at the water, looking up at the sky and just _dreaming_ about the world." Self-consciousness rises in her chest, and she tucks in her chin. "I don't know, it's dumb," she finishes quietly.

Brittany shifts closer, cuddling into Quinn's neck. "I don't think that's dumb. I spend most of my day in my own head."

Quinn laughs a little at that. "You make it seem easy though."

"It _is_ easy," Brittany insists. She tugs lightly at Quinn's hand. "Are you happy back in New York?"

"There's nothing more satisfying than booking a man who beats his wife."

Brittany smiles. "No, are you _happy_? Not about work." She palms Quinn's hipbone. "Do you wake up and look forward to the day? Do you go to bed feeling like you've done something more than be a lawyer?"

"I'm an adult, Britt," Quinn deflects. "I have… responsibilities, and a stressful but important job."

Brittany frowns. "Why does being an adult mean you can't have fun?"

Quinn doesn't know exactly how to answer that question, so she says instead, "I'm not my father."

Brittany's eyes snap to the side of Quinn's face. "I know."

Quinn keeps her gaze up at the sky. The clouds overhead appear dark and ominous and _full_. "No, you don't," Quinn says evenly. "You're just saying that to reassure me and you don't have to do that. You don't know anything about me, or my father."

"I know that you like melty ice cream and scalding coffee and crunchy peanut butter. I know that you can pop a wheelie on your ATV, and that the only reason you do it – even though it's super dangerous – is because your sister dared you to when you were sixteen. I know that you like it when I kiss your neck when I have my fingers inside you."

Quinn quirks a tiny smile as heat rushes up her neck. "Britt—"

"I know that you're kind of awesome at surfing," Brittany continues. "I know that you love your best friend and she loves you. I know that you had fun with me these past two days and I know you want to stay a bit longer."

Quinn swallows hard, throat dry. "I can't."

"I know that too," Brittany says quietly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I can't separate work from the rest of my life," Quinn blurts out. "I fight every case like it's my own family, and it makes me fantastic at my job, but I can't—I'm suffocating."

Brittany props her head up using her elbow. "How many times did you think about your work in the past two days? Like really _think_ about it the way you mean."

"None, but—"

"When you need to relax," Brittany cuts in, "think about this. Think about today."

The first droplets of rain hit the roof, blurring the scenery beyond. Drizzle turns to downpour, and rain pounds down on the windows. The rhythm is soothing, and Quinn's limbs feel lethargic. She reaches over and pulls Brittany closer, wanting to feel life in her arms, another heart beating beside her.

"There's no reason you can't be happy back home," Brittany murmurs against her skin.

Quinn can't help it. "I don't have you to remind me of that back home."

Brittany laughs softly and presses a kiss to Quinn's throat. "You don't need me to be happy, Quinn. You can never have someone before you know how to have yourself."

Quinn shuts her eyes against the wave of emotion that surges to the surface. Soft kisses press against her neck, her jaw. Brittany's head settles against her collarbone as an arm drapes over her abdomen. The two remain in that position until the sun rises behind gray clouds. The rain doesn't let up, but Quinn is okay with that. She's had two days and three nights of sunshine, and she doesn't mean the beams casting warmth against her skin.

\--

The airport is busy, but Quinn barely notices her surroundings. She's holding Brittany's hand, swinging it lightly between their bodies, and this is the way she wants to spend their last moments together. Quietly. Peacefully. With a mutual understanding about… about something. About this.

"I'll call you," Quinn says, searching Brittany's eyes for any indication of protest.

Brittany leans in and presses her lips against Quinn's. "I know you will."

Quinn brushes a few stray strands of Brittany's hair away from her face. "Thank you," she whispers. "I don't think you know how much you did for me, but—"

Brittany kisses her again, cutting her off. "I do know."

Quinn smiles. "If you ever need a good lawyer…"

Brittany laughs and pulls Quinn into her arms, squeezing her tightly. Quinn buries her face into Brittany's hair and breathes in. Brittany smells like rain and sea salt. Always sea salt.

They pull away, and Brittany smiles. "You'd better go."

Quinn brushes her knuckles against Brittany's cheek one last time and loosens her grip around Brittany's hand. Slowly, their hands slide apart.

Words are unnecessary. Quinn reaches down for her suitcase, pulling out the handle. She turns, and with one smile over her shoulder, she heads for the check-in counter.

A strange calmness blankets her. She feels changed, different. Less tense and more comfortable.

These are the moments, Quinn thinks. These are the moments when words like 'growth' and 'discovery' are used. These are the moments she'll look back on when she's older, when she can really appreciate the importance and see how pivotal this vacation has been in the grand structure of her life.

This is the person who changes her. The person who rolls into her life with startling blue eyes, an infectious laugh, and an unapologetic penchant for nudity.

This is the person who teaches Quinn Fabray how to live again.

 

 _fin_


End file.
